66 The Love Pirate Read online

  Authors Note

  During the reign of Sir Charles Vyner Brooke, the third and last White Rajah of Sarawak, the much-feared practice of headhunting was made almost extinct in Borneo. This is largely attributed to the mass conversions of the Dyak tribe to Christianity and later Islam, as well as anti-headhunting legislation passed by the Colonial powers.

  However, during World War II, when the Japanese occupied Sarawak, headhunting was revived and over one thousand five hundred Japanese soldiers were killed and their heads preserved. Although this ancient ritual seems shocking, Japanese massacres of the Dyak people are well documented and the resultant headhunting was part of the guerilla warfare, instigated by the allied forces that recruited and trained them.

  After the war, when the Rajah and Ranee returned to the island from exile in Australia, the Dyaks showed them a large collection of Japanese heads, all smoked, stuffed and displayed in the traditional way. It is said that the warriors related gleefully how they had sent their prettiest daughters down to a pool in the jungle to bathe. As soon as the Japanese crept up to stare at them, the Dyaks had captured and then killed them.

  In 1946 the Rajah ceded Sarawak to the British government as a Crown Colony, thus ending White Rajah rule in Sarawak.

  Today headhunting is illegal.

  Chapter One

  1885

  “I hear you are going away again, Theydon,” the Honourable d’Arcy Charington said, settling himself into the reserved compartment of the fast train and lighting a cigar.

  “The Prime Minister has asked me to visit the Far East, starting with Singapore,” Lord Saire replied. “I am to give him a report on the general aspect of trade and how our far-famed diplomacy is doing its job.”

  D’Arcy Charington laughed.

  “It sounds very pompous and I certainly don’t envy you.”

  “It will be a change,” Lord Saire remarked.

  “You sound as if you are glad to be getting away from England. I had a feeling you were not enjoying yourself this weekend.”

  “It was very much the same mixture as before,” Lord Saire said with a note of boredom in his voice.

  “Good God, Theydon! You are hard to please!” d’Arcy Charington ejaculated. “I suppose there were more beautiful women to the square yard than one would find anywhere else in the world and the Prince of Wales certainly seemed amused.”

  “The Prince is always amused when there are beautiful women about,” Lord Saire replied.

  His friend d’Arcy Charington laughed.

  “His Royal Highness really is fantastic! One sees that glint in his eye and an alert expression on his face the moment one of the beauties comes gliding into the room.”

  He paused and then added,

  “Cynic though you may be, Theydon, you must admit they are damned beautiful.”

  Lord Saire also lit a cigar before he replied.

  Then, as he extinguished the match, he said slowly,

  “I was thinking last night that they behave exactly as if they were Goddesses sitting on the top of Mount Olympus and we were mere mortals grovelling at the foot of it!”

  D’Arcy Charington looked at him speculatively.

  “Of one thing I am quite certain, Theydon,” he said, “you have never grovelled at the foot of anybody, however arched the instep, however attractive the little pink toes may have been.”

  “Really, d’Arcy, you talk like one of those French novels we used to read and chuck out the window when we were in Paris together “

  “We did have fun, did we not?” d’Arcy commented. “At the same time, Theydon, French women, alluring though they may be, cannot compare with our English beauties.”

  “It is not always classical features and a curved body which attract a man,” Lord Saire said,

  “Then what else?” questioned his friend.

  Lord Saire did not reply and d’Arcy Charington said,

  “The whole trouble with you, Theydon, is that you are spoilt. You are too rich, too good-looking, too damned successful at everything you undertake! It’s unnatural!”

  Lord Saire’s eyes twinkled,

  “In what way?” he enquired.

  “Well, you pick the ripest peaches from the tree or rather they fall into your arms before you even lift your hand towards them with the result that you are satiated – that is the word, old chap – you are satiated with the good things of life and just don’t know when you are well off.”

  “Perhaps I would prefer to have to make an effort to do the picking, as you call it,” Lord Saire said, “or to put it another way, I would rather do my own hunting.”

  D’Arcy Charington laughed.

  “I thought Gertrude was running you too hard this weekend. She has always been extremely possessive and, once a man is in her clutches, she never lets go.”

  Lord Saire did not reply and, although his friend knew that on principle he never talked about his love affairs, he could not resist saying,

  “Perhaps you are wise, Theydon, to get away while you can. I really would not relish seeing you trailing behind Gertrude’s chariot wheels.”

  “That is something I have no intention of doing “ Lord Saire asserted positively.

  His friend smiled to himself.

  He knew now why there had been a definite glint of anger in Lady Gertrude Lindley’s beautiful eyes and why Lord Saire had seemed more elusive than usual at a party, which had included as the guests of the Duke of Melchester the cream of the Society that circled round Marlborough House.

  Those who were invited to entertain the Prince of Wales had all been women married to members of the Nobility or else widowed.

  Several of the men like Lord Saire and d’Arcy Charington ostensibly were unattached, but were invited because they were discreetly paired in their hostess’s mind with one of the acclaimed beauties.

  Or else they were included as elusive foxes to be hunted down by females who, as d’Arcy Charington had often said, wore their conquests just as Indians wore scalps of their enemies at their waists.

  Looking at him now, d’Arcy Charington thought, as he had done so often before, that his friend Lord Saire was undoubtedly one of the most attractive and handsome men of his generation.

  It seemed almost unfair that at the same time he should also be wealthy and extremely intelligent.

  The Prime Minister, the Marquis of Salisbury, and his predecessor Mr. Gladstone had entrusted Lord Saire with missions of importance that had never been accorded to any other man so young.

  Officially attached to the Foreign Office, Lord Saire had an unofficial diplomatic status that sent him all over the world to make personal and usually private reports on what he saw and heard.

  “When are you leaving?” d’Arcy asked when neither man had spoken for some minutes.

  “The day after tomorrow,” Lord Saire replied.

  “So soon! Have you told Gertrude?”

  “I find it advisable never to inform anybody when I am going away,” Lord Saire answered. “I loathe scenes of farewell and, if I promise to write, I never keep it.”

  He spoke with a note almost of violence in his voice and his friend thought shrewdly that he must have avoided many scenes in the past by slipping away before some woman was aware that it was his intention.

  “Well,” he said, “you are off to pastures new and perhaps I am envious. There will be little to do when the shooting is over and it’s too frosty to hunt. The Prince is talking of going down to Cannes after Christmas. London will be empty.”

  “You might do well to join His Royal Highness “

  “I could not stand a month of all that bowing and scraping,” d’Arcy replied. “If I had the choice I would rather come with you.”

  Lord
Saire smiled.

  “There is nothing you would dislike more. There is not only a lot of tiresome bowing and scraping to local nabobs, but it can also be at times extremely uncomfortable. If you saw some of the places I have stayed in, you would be surprised.”

  “It could not be worse than the years we spent together in the Army,” d’Arcy murmured.

  “That’s true,” Lord Saire agreed. “I had almost forgotten the discomfort of manoeuvres and forced marches and the inane conversation we had to listen to in the Mess.”

  “It was not much worse than the conversation we were forced to listen to this weekend,” d’Arcy Charington said. “I thought Charlie was at his most feeble with the same old stories and the same impersonations. He amused the Prince, but no one else.”

  “I am beginning to think that I am too old for the whole racket,” Lord Saire sighed.

  “At thirty-one?” his friend exclaimed. “My dear Theydon, you must be sickening for something. Could it be love?”

  “The answer to that is a decisive no!” In case you mistake my meaning, let me repeat myself, d’Arcy, I am not in love and have no wish to be.”

  “That must be a relief to the Prime Minister,” d’Arcy remarked.

  Lord Saire raised his eyebrows and his friend explained,

  “The old boy is always in a tizzy in case he should lose you. He said to my father in the Lords the other day, ‘I lose more young men through affaires de coeur than were ever killed on the battlefield!’”

  “Your father can set the Prime Minister’s mind at rest,” Lord Saire said. “Love is something which does not enter into my plans and therefore it will not interfere with the P.M.’s”

  “You will have to marry sometime, mainly because you need an heir. Someone will have to inherit that mountain of possessions!”

  D’Arcy paused before he said reflectively,

  “I often think that Saire House needs a Mistress and half a dozen children to make it habitable. It is too architecturally perfect to be a home without them.”

  “I like it as it is,” Lord Saire replied. “Besides, d’Arcy, can you imagine me with a wife?”

  “Very easily Gertrude, for instance, would look magnificent in the Saire diamonds!”

  “As we are speaking off the record,” Lord Saire answered, “I cannot think of anyone less suited to be my wife than Gertrude.”

  “You mean she is too demanding and too possessive?” d’Arcy Charington asked sympathetically.

  “Yes, she is that and as a matter of fact I doubt if she has a brain of any sort,” Lord Saire answered. “She is beautiful, I grant you that, one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, but when you have said that, you have said it all.”

  “Good God, Theydon, what else do you want?”

  “A great deal, as it happens.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Certainly not! If I did, you would find it impossible not to go round looking for the sort of creature I described to you and, if you found her, you would force me up the aisle just so that you could be my best man!”

  D’Arcy laughed,

  “All right, Theydon, have it your own way. Enjoy yourself in intellectual isolation, but I warn you, you will be very lonely in your old age sitting in all your glory at Saire without a help-mate or whatever the expression is.”

  “I shall be perfectly content to enjoy the company of my friends, like you, d’Arcy, and to be Godfather to their children, of whom I have quite a number already”

  “Good Lord! And I suppose you have renounced the flesh and the Devil on their behalf?”

  “Of course,” Lord Saire agreed, “but not on my own behalf! My Godparents, who are dead by this time, certainly did nothing for me when they were alive.”

  “And what do you do for your Godchildren?”

  “I send them a guinea for Christmas and ten guineas when they are confirmed. After that I can wash my hands of them.”

  “All very laudable,” d’Arcy said with a mocking note in his voice. “But I would be much happier, Theydon, to see you with a son of your own and perhaps one or two pretty daughters.”

  “God forbid!” Lord Saire laughed. “And one of the things I am determined to avoid, d’Arcy, is other people’s daughters. The Duchess was hinting quite broadly this weekend that Katherine would make me a very commendable wife.”

  “I hope you will not consider such a thing,” d’Arcy remarked quickly.

  “Why not? I thought you wished me to be married.”

  “Not to one of the Duke’s daughters! Can you imagine anything more ghastly than having him as a father-in-law? And anyway, from what I have seen of his offspring, they look rather like his racehorses and are as dull as ditch-water.”

  “What young girl is not?” Lord Saire asked. “Not that I have met many of the species.”

  “There must be some attractive young women about,” d’Arcy observed. “After all the cygnet becomes a swan and Gertrude and her like must all have been cygnets at some time.”

  “And doubtless as dull as ditch-water,” Lord Saire added mockingly.

  “Well, I shall take up the matter with you again when you return from the East. Of course you may lose your heart in the meantime to some alluring black-eyed houri – who knows?”

  “As you say, who knows?” Lord Saire repeated with a faint smile on his lips.

  The train was running into the terminus when d’Arcy Charington stubbed out his cigar and put his hat on his head.

  “You must forgive me, Theydon, if I hurry away as soon as the train comes to a standstill. I have rather an important appointment.”

  “An important appointment?” Lord Saire echoed. “Male or female?”

  “Male, and as it happens – my Bank Manager.”

  “Who, of course, is far more important than anyone else,” Lord Saire laughed.

  “In my case undoubtedly so,” d’Arcy replied. “I dare not tell my father the extent of my debts and as a rule I find my Bank Manager far more sympathetic.”

  “Then good luck!” Lord Saire smiled. “I suppose I shall see you this evening at Marlborough House?”

  “Yes, the Prince invited me and it might be rather amusing.”

  “Well, if it’s too dull,” Lord Saire suggested, “we could go on afterwards. There are some farewells I would not mind making, considering I shall be away for some months.”

  His friend gave him a knowing smile.

  “I certainly think Madame Aspanali would welcome us with open arms and I hear she has some new and very attractive ‘soiled doves’, whom she has just imported from Paris.”

  “In which case,” Lord Saire said, “we will certainly leave Marlborough House early.”

  As he spoke, the train ran alongside the platform and there was the usual long line of porters waiting to attract the attention of the incoming passengers.

  Both gentlemen, however, relied on their valets to collect their luggage from the carriage and their trunks from the guard’s van.

  As the train came to a standstill, d’Arcy Charington picked up his silver-topped Malacca cane, opened the door and sprang out onto the platform.

  “Goodbye, Theydon,” he said and disappeared into the crowd.

  Lord Saire was not in a hurry.

  He folded The Financial Times, which he had been unable to read during the journey because he was talking to his friend, then rose and put on his fur-lined overcoat with its astrakhan collar.

  As he picked up his top hat and put it at an angle on his dark head, his valet appeared at the door.

  “I hope your Lordship had a good journey.”

  “Quite comfortable, thank you,” Lord Saire replied. “Bring The Financial Times, Higson. I have not yet finished reading it.”

  “Very good, my Lord. The brougham will be waiting for your Lordship. I’ll bring the luggage in the landau.”

  “Thank you, Higson. I am going to the House of Lords. I shall be changing early because I am dining at Marlborough House.”
/>
  “So I understand, my Lord.”

  Lord Saire stepped out onto the platform and started to walk through the milling crowd.

  The train had been full including a number of schoolgirls who he noticed had boarded at Oxford. They were going home for Christmas he supposed and looked excited and happy.

  They were saying goodbye to their friends whilst being herded into little groups by flustered Governesses.

  A number of them were being met by their parents, their mothers draped elegantly in furs and holding sable or ermine muffs up to their faces to prevent themselves from breathing in the acid smoke being belched out by the engine.

  Lord Saire had moved a little way from his railway carriage when he remembered something he should have told Higson and he retraced his steps.

  His valet was still collecting his valises and despatch cases and a number of other pieces of hand luggage from the rack.

  D’Arcy Charington‘s valet was also there, sorting out his Master‘s belongings.

  “Higson!” Lord Saire called from the platform.

  His valet came quickly to the door of the carriage.

  “Yes, my Lord?”

  “On your way stop at the florist and send a large bouquet of lilies to Lady Gertrude Lindley. Here is a card to go with it.”

  “Very good, my Lord,” Higson said, taking the envelope that Lord Saire handed to him.

  As he turned away again, Lord Saire decided that this was the last bunch of flowers Gertrude Lindley would receive from him.

  As so often had happened in his love affairs, he had known this one had come to an abrupt end.

  He could not explain to himself why suddenly he became bored and what had seemed attractive and desirable ceased to be so.

  It was not that Gertrude had done anything unusual or had upset him in any way.

  He had merely become aware that she no longer attracted him and he found that many of her mannerisms, which at one time had been alluring, were now distinctly irritating.

  He knew only too well that his friend, d’Arcy, would take him to task for being so fastidious, or perhaps changeable was the right word where women were concerned, but he could not help his feelings.

  It was always, he thought, as if he sought the unobtainable, believing he had captured it, only to be disillusioned.